


Je Suis Tombé Amoureux De Vous

by ManyFox



Series: Hetalia Human AU Fluff [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Duolingo, F/M, Fluff, I just really wanted that to be a tag, Implied Sexual Content, Love Confessions, M/M, Other, Reader is Non-French, Tsundere Reader, but like more realistically not like. in a bad way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-19 20:33:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20663369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ManyFox/pseuds/ManyFox
Summary: You're not one to admit to mushy feelings. It's way easier to just fuck someone and go, even if you are pining over the idea of going on sweet, romantic dates filled with adoring whispers and gentle caresses, knowing that the two of you were meant for one anothe--Okay. Maybe you should just get over it and tell him. But...it is remarkably difficult to get those words out of your mouth.Maybe if you learned French, you could do it. Would it be easier in a different language?(Reader is gender-neutral. Companion to I'm Not? where (she/her) reader from that one is this reader's friend.)





	Je Suis Tombé Amoureux De Vous

**Author's Note:**

> If you like my fics, I run a blog @ readertalia.tumblr.com and I accept requests! :)

A familiar chime rang out from your phone, catching your friend’s attention. She lowered an eyebrow in interest, probably listening for the next phrase that was to be said. She knew French. You knew she was going to say something. Inwardly sighing, you tapped the green button to continue.

“Tu dois te dépêcher, tu vas être en retard.”

After typing in your answer, you chanced a glance at her, and as expected a smug smirk was plastered all over her face. You didn’t respond, because you didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of acknowledgement, but you knew she knew. Your cheeks were burning. She probably couldn’t actually see it, but the feeling alone was enough for you. You tried to lower your volume and continue your lesson, but she hit you with a very gratified:

“Tu apprends le français?” 

_Really?_ Was that actually necessary? You looked up from your phone without moving, sending her an annoyed glance.

“Shut up.”

She continued smiling that shit-eating smirk, propping her chin up on her hands as though waiting for juicy gossip. She had her head cocked to the side in anticipation, though you simply waited for her response. Both of you knew you weren’t going to initiate the conversation.

“So, [Name], I’m curious. What made you want to learn French?”

“I just thought it would be cool. I already knew a little bit.”

She cocked her head to the other side, smirk unfettered.

“It couldn’t be that you’re dating a certain French man, could it?”

Now she wanted you to _admit_ to it? Not one to admit to mushy feelings—especially when an obnoxiously confident, exorbitantly amorous fool was the cause of them—you simply glared at her and refused to respond. She left you alone when you did this, although you could tell that she was satisfied enough because she was fully aware of what was going on. Obligingly, she changed the subject to her own boyfriend, who she apparently had only just realized she was actually dating, and how she had started making more of an attempt to learn Norwegian for him.

“Interestingly, it’s one of those languages that doesn’t really seem to have lots of mushy phrases or pet names or anything. For example, from what I hear, there’s a few words you can technically use but they’re so cheesy that if you say them, no one will take you seriously. It’s a lot different from Romance languages that way.”

You knew that she was only reflecting on her knowledge of multiple language patterns, but you felt like she was calling you out. She was staring beside you into space again—probably at the greenery behind you—which made you feel a lot less self-conscious about how panicked you felt like you looked. Deciding to distance yourself from the romance of both the French language and your lover, you decided to do what you knew best: roast them. You snickered haughtily.

“Yeah, and like, they have the_ cheesiest_ phrases, dude. Like, in what context ever would you need to say something as corny as fuckin’… ‘je suis tombé amoureux de vous’? Like that’s just so extra…”

She narrowed her eyes.

“Okay, but like, why do you know that phrase?”

At that moment, you did what your instincts told you to. You reached into your back pocket and pulled out your phone, briefly glancing at its blank screen and holding it up to your ear.

“Hello? Hi. Yeah, okay. See you in a second. Okay, bye.”

Tapping your still-blank phone and returning it to its place, you stood from your seat and gathered your things: your keys, your water, et cetera. Pointedly looking away from your friend, who you were just hoping wasn’t grilling you suspiciously with her eyes (and let’s be honest, she probably wasn’t; you were acting totally normal), you pushed your chair in. In order to keep up the façade, you hazarded a short glance at her, long enough to say, “Well, I gotta go, so…”

“Whatever, dude. And just so you know, it’s ‘toi’, not ‘vous’. Or, at least I’m pretty sure it is. Unless you want to be formal, I guess.” She sent you a cheeky grin and a wink as she shooed you away, as though giving you permission to leave.

You refrained from defending yourself. Although she was technically right to point out the reasons that you’d learned the phrase, she seemed to understand just how embarrassed you were about it. At least she had backed off, somewhat? As casually as possible, you departed, only hoping your next encounter with her might not be so embarrassing. 

* * *

Skin glistening with a mist of sweat, chest rising and falling raggedly as you tried to catch your breath, you stared straight at the ceiling. You really did that, huh? Again.

The man beside you sighed in content, and you absolutely refused to look at him. Nope. You were only strong enough to have ‘morals’ and ‘taste’ when you weren’t looking at him, it seemed. It was easy enough to tell yourself you’d never be interested in a man like this when you weren’t looking at him, but when you were…

…Well, you’d inevitably end up here again.

Of course, you knew the only reason you pushed him away like this was because you were afraid of being vulnerable. Sometimes, you’d think that it might be okay to let him in, to say “fuck the haters” and let yourself love him. He’d be good at it, you think, making you feel loved and cherished. He would take you to beautiful gardens and shower you with lavish gifts and spontaneously treat you to romantic outings. You imagined him taking you out on a day trip to the French Riviera, basking in the refreshing sea breeze as you shopped and ate to your heart’s content, eventually settling in to watch the sun set over the rich blue sea. The sky would fade to a warm rosy pink, with the sun’s bright golden hue cradled safely in the center, and you’d think about how it looked the way your chest felt as you tucked your head in the crook of his neck. You’d hate the obnoxious pet names he uses but secretly love it every time he used them on you. The things he would say to you, the things he would do just to show you that he was thinking about you and make absolutely sure that you and everyone else knew it—you think it’d be a dream to make this thing, whatever the two of you had, official.

Or you could just keep fucking him and acting like you didn’t have feelings. That sounded easier.

You were reminded how quickly these thoughts could pass through your mind when a soft, warm hand was draped over your bare waist. He massaged gentle circles on your skin as he spoke, and although you wanted to be calmed by it, of course you were at war with your own feelings.

“Mon chéri.”

There it was. You grunted in response, still refusing to look at him. He couldn’t break you.

“What will it be tonight? Have you made up your mind?”

Wait. What was he talking about? “Made up your mind” about what? You hadn’t discussed anything with him.

You turned on your side to look at him, inadvertently—or maybe subconsciously—shifting closer to him. That was a mistake, because your gaze instantly centered on the way his soft hair fell lightly over his collarbone and fanned out slightly over his shoulder. He was resting on one arm—the other draped over your waist—and though you avoided looking at him straight on, choosing instead to treat his face as though it were the sun, you could tell he was smirking.

“What are you talking about? Have I made up my mind about what?”

“Oh, don’t pretend I don’t know what’s going on, my love; I am no fool. You cannot truly believe that our feelings for one another are simply physical. So, I am asking: what will it be? Will you stay this time, or are we to continue the charade?”

When you hesitated and gave him a look of uncertainty, he continued.

“It’s entirely up to you, of course. The anticipation only grows sweeter with time,” he added with a wink.

Your heart was pounding in your ears; what were you supposed to do? On one hand, you could continue trying to ignore your feelings for him, but on the other, here he was, offering himself to you, and making the possibility of all of your wildest, cheesiest dreams real. The conflict between your reluctance to be genuine and your absolute desire for him swirled in your head until finally, you did it. You said something stupid.

“J-Je suis tombé…am-our-eux de vous…”

And then you didn’t even say it right.

His eyes grew wide and before he could even respond, you attempted to distract him from the meaning of what you had said by correcting yourself.

“Toi. De toi…”

And before you could react, he was on you again, hands fervently grasping and caressing your body, sucking at any skin he could reach and leaving marks in his wake. You were going to be really mad about it tomorrow, but for now…

Yeah, this was where you ended up, every time you looked at him.


End file.
